Monthly Archives: February 2008

Dept. of Sick and Wrong


If the trout are lost, smash the state.
—Tom McGuane

Today’s Seattle Post-Intelligencer has a disturbing story about the chemicals and heavy metals found in our last best places. The levels are off the charts.

The report comes from a six-year study out today that examined pollution levels in eight western parks.

Quote: “We’re looking at some of the most pristine areas left in North America that are under the protection of the national parks, and we’re finding some alarming results,” said Dixon Landers, a senior scientist with the Environmental Protection Agency’s National Health and Environmental Effects Laboratory.

Trout from Olympic National Park recorded some of the highest mercury levels measured in the study and were considered unsafe for human consumption. Fish caught at Golden Lake in Mount Rainier National Park sported the highest levels of—ahem—flame retardants (PBDEs).

Quote: Among the report’s more surprising results were signs that some male fish were “feminized.” For years researchers have linked female egg proteins in male fish with the presence of obvious estrogen sources, such as birth control in sewage waste. In the park study, the protein was found in some of the fish with the highest levels of chemicals that can mimic hormones—including PBDEs.

FOTL is very unhappy about this report. FOTL doesn’t buy trout from behind a refrigerated glass case or trout wrapped in plastic or even trout from a restaurant. FOTL wouldn’t order Truite au Bleu from the most famous French restaurant where Truite au Bleu is the specialty, M.F.K. Fisher be damned. In short, FOTL doesn’t do farmed fish. FOTL catches his own wild trout in the backcountry and cooks it up proper.

And if the trout are toxic waste dumps, what about the mushrooms? Fungi are famous for concentrating chemicals and heavy metals in the environment. Should we be avoiding those gifts of the earth like the plague too?

There’s only one recourse: Get involved. Make change happen.

Pasta alle Vongole


Shhhh: Never was a show-stopper so easy to prepare. Spaghetti with Clams, or Pasta alle Vongole as it’s known in Italian, has the hallmarks of a classic dish: fresh shellfish glistening atop a feathery bed of linguini with accents of red tomato and green parsley to draw the eye. The key is live clams (the Vongole of the title); don’t even attempt with canned clams. Fresh, live clams taste better, and it’s more fun to dig out the meat and suck the juices from the shells. Anthony Bourdain writes about the power—and simplicity—of a winning Pasta alle Vongole in Kitchen Confidential. My preparation is similar, which is to say: quick and easy.

Add a pound of linguini to boiling salted water. Meanwhile, in a deep pan or pot over medium heat, saute a diced shallot and at least 1 tbsp of chopped garlic in a 1/4 cup of olive oil. De-glaze with a half cup of white wine. Add a generous pinch of red pepper flakes and a few rough-cut plum tomatoes. Salt to taste. (Optional: Add a pinch of dried tarragon.) Stir and raise the heat. Add four dozen or more littlenecks—preferably clams you’ve dug yourself—and cover. Remove the pasta when two-thirds cooked and add to sauce as clams begin to open. (This is the perfect moment to make use of your fancy pasta cooker; if your timing is off you can let the collander of pasta sit out of the water until it’s time, then dunk quickly before adding to the clam sauce.) Stir well. When all clams are open, mix in a loose cup of chopped Italian parsley. The linguini should be al dente. Serve immediately with garlic bread and salad. Serves 4 (or 2 at my house). Salute!

Po’ Boy Makeup Date


Regrets … I have a few. Like that time I was too hung over at Geoff Coffey‘s Nawlins bachelor bacchanal to partake in the Acme wake-up call. The Acme is a legendary oyster house in the French Quarter, known above all for its oyster po’ boys. What is a po’ boy, you ask? The “poor boy,” or po’ boy for short, is a traditional Louisiana sandwich served on a French roll or baguette. The usual ingredients are shredded lettuce, thinly sliced tomatoes, and some sort of meat, often fried shrimp or oysters. The derivation of the term is disputed. One theory holds that the name po’ boy comes from a 1929 streetcar strike, when a streetcar conductor-turned-restaurateur fed his former colleagues—called “poor boys”—free sandwiches from his shop.

The oyster po’ boy is also known variously as an oyster loaf or “Peace Maker.” Men carousing about town have traditionally brought home a Peace Maker to their wives at the end of a late night. If you read Calvin Trillin, you will be convinced that few foods on this earth rival a good oyster loaf—whether it’s used as a peace offering or not—and few places are more skilled in its preparation than the Acme Oyster House.

Recently I’ve been reading a lot of Trillin, and each mention of the Acme sends me wistfully back to that head-splitting morning when I was capable of ordering nothing more than a Bloody Mary. (At least I was in good company: my friend Warpo, who wore a lime-green leisure suit for 72 straight hours that weekend, also ordered an unaccompanied Bloody.) It was a weak showing for sure. I suppose one day I’ll be back to taste what I missed. In the meantime, I’ll make do with my own creation (Seattle, it should be admitted, shares almost nothing with the free-wheeling Big Easy except good seafood), using freshly foraged oysters from my backyard.

Oyster Po’ Boy

Dip oysters in egg, then batter with a mixture of mostly cornmeal, a little flour, and spices. The “shake and bake” method of battering is easiest, which is to say: do it in a plastic baggie to get all those flaps and folds evenly battered. Fry in oil and/or butter and remove to paper towels. Spread mayo, tartar, remoulade (or any combination thereof) on a French roll or baguette and pile with shredded lettuce, thinly sliced tomatoes, and the fried oysters. Drizzle with hot sauce. Pickles, onions, and whatever other condiments you prefer are optional. Serve with French fries and a suitable hair-of-the-dog beverage. (The one above was my lunch yesterday; no hair of the dog necessary, thank you.)

Sunshine Daydream


Did last week really happen? Props to the weather gods for giving us Nor’westerners a break. I celebrated over the weekend by taking the kids to the beach, where we did our part to harvest non-native species. Both the Manila clam (Venerupis philippinarum) and the Pacific oyster (Crassostrea gigas) are East Asian bivalves that were introduced into Puget Sound. In fact, the introduction was a twofer: the first Manila clams were imported by accident with Japanese oyster seed early last century.

Though I didn’t look too closely, I probably got some native littlenecks (Protothaca staminea) in my limit as well. The littlenecks look similar to the Manilas, with the same crosshatching pattern of concentric rings and radiating ridges on the shell, although they tend to be paler and less oblong in shape, and the tips of their siphons are fused. While the natives are usually buried four or more inches beneath the substrate, the Manilas—with their short siphons—are shallow burrowers … and we thank them for that. Even a two-year-old can get a limit!

A new yellow sign at the beach warned of the dangers of eating uncooked shellfish. I hate to see these signs. Like the white county signs (“Proposed Land Use”) proliferating along the urban-wild interface, nothing good can come of this signage. Every few years, it seems, we have to travel farther afield to find clean beaches and edible shellfish. This particular spot has been our go-to beach for the last year. The view is great, there’s plenty of room to spread out, both clams and oysters are available at low tide, and it’s open almost year-round. I always bring a couple good beers and a lemon so I can eat a few oysters right off the beach. Today was no different, despite the sign. Vibriosis be damned.

Morels on the Brain


Hear that buzzing sound? Right now all across the country an army of zealots is preparing for the next campaign. Forget Obamomania—I’m talking about Morel Madness.

At this very moment some lucky hunter in Southern California might be spying one of those early “beauty bark” morels in a suburban parking lot. Soon reports will march up the West Coast and come in from the South. By April the lower Midwest will be into ’em in a big way and in May—the official Morel Month in the crazed upper Midwestern states—that low buzzing sound will become a roar, as festivals and contests kick off from Boyne City to Muscoda. You can follow the progress here. They’re talking in Missouri and Iowa, in West Virginia and Illinois, even in New York and Nebraska.

Here in the West morels are little more peculiar in their fruiting habits—a subject for a future post. In the meantime, like a brewer who tipples his last batch while tending the wort, I’ve been indulging my own stirrings of morel mania.

Morel & Moth Cream Sauce

Ever since discovering Moth Fest ’08 in one of my bags of dried morels picked last spring at the Tripod burn, I’ve been nervously checking up on the surviving morels to see if any of the infected are still around. It’s like an entomological version of 28 Weeks Later. First, I made sure the uninfected bags were sequestered far away from the scene of the crime. Then I quarantined the others. Last week I had to dispose of a fair quantity of wormy morels. The moth larvae preferred the largest specimens because they could burrow easily into the hollow interiors and nestle into deep pits to pupate. Smaller morels were mostly left alone.

After pacing around and inspecting the bag of quarantined mushrooms several times a day—holding the bag up to the light, shaking it a little—I finally decided I couldn’t wait to see if I’d missed any incubating eggs and cooked up the entire batch. The usual target of a morel cream sauce is a thick veal chop, but I didn’t have time to go searching for dead baby cow in this heavily PC-policed town, so I settled for a Spencer cut of “natural beef.”

A morel cream sauce is one of the great pleasures of winter—and it’s surprisingly simple to make. All you do is reconstitute the dried morels in warm water, then saute them with diced shallot in butter. De-glaze with a splash of white wine and slowly add beef stock, the leftover mushroom water, and heavy cream, then heat until the sauce reaches desired thickness. A pinch of tarragon adds depth. Moth eggs and larvae are strictly optional.

Razor Clam Cakes


With another razor clam dig scheduled for early March, it’s time to put a dent in the freezer backlog. One of the few knocks against razor clams is that they toughen up once frozen. This problem can be solved by tenderizing the clams with a mallet or choosing recipes that work with previously frozen clams. I adapted this recipe from a posting I found on Chowhound, adding sauteed onions and red peppers to the mix. The food processor takes care of the tenderizing. Ingredients listed below are guidelines (I wasn’t really paying attention to amounts, and you can adjust easily to your own tastes). To the eye, the finished product looks like a standard crab cake—but you’ll be surprised by the intense clam flavor. For seafood lovers only.

1/2 heaping cup razor clams
1/2 small onion, diced
1/4 red pepper, diced
4 tbsp bread crumbs
1 egg
parsley
lemon
butter

1. Sauté the onion and pepper in butter.
2. Roughly chop clams and several sprigs of parsley in food processor.
3. Combine clam-parsley mix with sauteed vegetables, bread crumbs, and egg. Salt and pepper to taste. (I add a few sprinkles of Cajun’s Choice.)
4. Squeeze some lemon juice in the mixture and form into patties.
5. Fry quickly in butter.

Makes 4 small cakes. Serves 2 for dinner or 4 for appetizer.

Snow Day


FOTL has been off playing in the record accumulation for the last few days. Even so, spring is right around the corner, which means it’s time to start cleaning out the freezer at home to free up space. Expect a flurry of cooking soon…

Out, Damned Moth!


Disaster has struck: those pesky kitchen cupboard moths—you know, the little brown ones always flying out of cereal boxes—busted into my double-zipped gallon bag of dried morels picked at last year’s Tripod burn. They made a mess of things. Silk everywhere. Larvae inching around. Morels in tatters. I salvaged what I could, but several meal’s worth had to be chucked. Luckily I have more bags, like the one pictured above, but still.

I’ve made some inquiries and will be purchasing large glass mason jars with rubber gaskets and clamps, asap—a purchase I’ve been meaning to make for years and will finally get around to now that it’s too late, kinda like legislation to prevent mortgage foreclosure.

Food storage is of paramount importance to the forager. I’ve got a standup freezer that I picked up for zero dollars (the guy just wanted it out of his garage). Right now it’s filled with smoked salmon and shad, pink salmon fillets, shad fillets, shad roe, razor clams, squid, fish stock, chanterelle mushrooms, hedgehog mushrooms, and a bunch of other things. It was perfect for the quarter organic cow I bought from Skagit River Ranch a couple years ago. If I was a hunter, with birds, deer, and elk to store, I’d need another freezer, but this one will do for now even though it’s a bit dinged up and needs to be defrosted every few months.

A vacuum-sealer like the FoodSaver is another key part of the equation. Air, with its free-floating microbes waiting to feast on whatever they can get their grubby claws into, is the enemy. Fish fillets can last for months if vacuum-sealed (although they’re best when used within three months) while mushrooms…let’s just say I’m still working through chanties with ’06 on the label.

I get a nice warm feeling when the wild food processing is just about complete and it’s time to break out the vacuum-sealer. Labeling the bags with a laundry pen (species, date, harvest location) brings me back to the pleasure of the foraging itself. Dividing up the food into bags makes me think ahead to all the cooking I’ll do. Then, watching the air get sucked out of the bags as the plastic tightens and forms around my catch is a strangely satisfying exclamation on the day. It’s usually late at night by now: time to arrange the food parcels in the freezer and go to bed, knowing an abundance of food gathered and caught with my own hands awaits.

* * *

Did I write that last paragraph? That was a few hours ago. In retrospect even I have to wonder what sort of fungi I’m putting up.

Coming Soon: Upriver Brights

The Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife is forecasting a run of 269,300 upper Columbia River spring chinook this year, the third highest run since 1977. Of course, WDFW has been wrong before, so here at FOTL we won’t be holding our breath—but we will be thinking about getting in on the action.

Apparently the getting should be good, because the state fish commission voted last week to re-jigger the catch allocations—in favor of recreational anglers. This is somewhat complicated stuff, but the bottom line is this: Columbia River wild spring chinook are listed under the Endangered Species Act; only 2 percent of the wild run can suffer mortality in the fishery for the hatchery spring chinook. Once that quota is reached, the fishery is closed. Under the new rules, the quota will be weighted toward recreational anglers vs. commercial at 65-35 percent.

Fishing chat boards all over the Northwest have been in full rejoice mode over the run numbers. The upper Columbia River spring chinook, known as “upriver brights,” are among the most coveted of all the salmon. Sure, we hear about well marketed Alaskan salmon like Copper River sockeye and Yukon chinook, but ask salmon connoisseurs and commercial fishermen what race of salmon they’d most like to slap on the barbecue and you’ll hear a nearly unanimous vote for Columbia springers. The only problem is that most years there isn’t a big enough run to open a significant fishery.

Because the springers enter the river earlier and travel farther than almost any other race of salmon, they’ve evolved a life history that enables them to survive in a freshwater environment longer than is usual. This results in nickel-bright fish well up into the system, fish with a high fat content (read: flavor) and nice firm flesh. Before the Columbia and its major tribs were turned into a series of slackwater reservoirs for hydropower, irrigation, barging, and flood-control, the system famously produced strains of giant chinook that migrated deep into the mountain streams of Idaho, including the notorious “June hogs,” which could tip the scales in excess of 100 pounds!

Native Americans revered the spring chinook. With the “First Salmon Ceremony,” a ritual common to many of the Northwestern tribes, they offered their respects at the beginning of the run to the Salmon People who sent their ambassadors up the rivers each year to nourish the tribes. The first salmon was captured and brought to the village as an honored guest, where it was ritualistically prepared and eaten by all members of the community. In this way, the tribe hoped the salmon would feel welcome and well treated and would return again. The skeleton of the first salmon was then floated back downriver so it could receive a dignified burial and reincarnation.

We’ll be keeping our eye on how this highly touted fishery plays out. It’s a serious gear show, so here at FOTL—primarily a fly-flinging outfit—we have some boning up to do. More to come…

(The photo above by D. Ryan/AP shows spring chinook navigating the Bonneville Dam fish ladder.)

I’ve Seen the Future … and It Has Six Legs!


Today’s New York Times magazine has a brief but intriguing article on the food of the future: “Man Bites Insect,” by Sam Nejame.

Money quote: “Why douse fields with pesticides if the bugs we kill are more nutritious than the crops they eat?”

The article features a Rhode Island community college writing teacher who has made it his mission to introduce the joys of entomophagy to the wider, bug-fearing public. Says David Gracer: “Insects can feed the world. Cows and pigs are the S.U.V.’s; bugs are the bicycles.” You can visit Gracer’s blog “Bugs for Dinner!” here, or check out his fledgling business Sunrise Land Shrimp here.

I’ll have more to say on this subject in upcoming posts.